


The Me I Am Now

by FanGirlyGlee



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Introspection, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-10-09 03:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanGirlyGlee/pseuds/FanGirlyGlee
Summary: For years Mick Rory believed that the fire had transformed him; revealed his true self.  But he was wrong.  That was his mental illness.  A true transformative experience came at the hands of the Time Masters.  The man that emerged from that torture and manipulation was not the same one who agreed to join up with Rip Hunter and be hailed as a legend.  He was someone new.  Becoming a whole person takes time and effort, and it sure isn't easy.  It helps to have friends.Please read notes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to explain the reason for the non-con tag. Simply, Mick was physically and psychologically tortured by the Time Masters. He could not consent to anything they did to him while he was Chronos, which in this story includes sexual abuse.  
This fic is an exploration of the man that emerged from that armor as he struggles to figure out who he is and what he wants. It is not a ship fic, but there is an undertone of Atomwave. Also, I may describe things explicitly, but there is no smut. Finally, I am finding myself weaving in bits and pieces of some of my other works into this one. So you may find some repetition. If I think you need to have read something else I've written I'll put it in the chapter notes.

Mick was starving and nearly feral when the hunters found him, and it still took three of them take him down with stunners and vicious kicks to his torso. He woke up in a cell to find he’d been given food and clean water and gorged himself without a second thought. Take every opportunity to fill your tank. He taught Len that on the day they met. Rage over Snart’s betrayal was at the forefront of his thoughts as they dragged him to the chair for the first time. It didn’t matter what the Time Masters had planned for him. He would have his revenge. Until then, Mick was prepared to endure any indignity.

_How’d that word just pop into my head? _he wondered

He knew the induction process was doing more than giving him headaches. His thoughts were fuzzy, and somehow Mick knew that even if he could have found a lighter, the flame wouldn’t bring him relief. He was scheduled for something called cognitive intrusion. In Mick’s experience, complicated words like that never described anything fun. The Englishman used big words. He lied to get Mick and Len to go on his stupid mission; wanted them to kill and die for him. Now Mick had a new mission; new orders to follow. It was better than having to decide for himself all the time. 

They drilled down deep into his mind, bringing old sorrows and pain to the surface, and in the process, making him into someone new. Suddenly there were two voices inside his head. Sometimes he knew both belonged to him.

“I am Chronos,” he intoned. “I serve the Time Masters.”

_I-I was Mick. I still am, I think. _

**Who we are does not matter.**

_As long as we kill Snart._

**Obey. Do your duty. Crush the enemies of the Time Masters.**

_Snart will wait._

Chronos was not the only hunter at the Vanishing Point. They were all the tools of the Time Masters, though at times they were treated like toys with special costumes and new names chosen for them. Chronos’ armor was lined with a light fabric that wicked away moisture and didn’t irritate Mick’s scars. The helmet hid his face, which meant he never really had to look anyone in the eye. It made eliminating time pirates a simpler task. Clean up was easier as well since blood never really got on _him_. 

It’s possible that some of the other hunters were volunteers, but Chronos saw others treated like he was; stripped, shocked, and beaten. They were all eventually brought to heel. Once he’d overheard someone say that Chronos was different from the others; already broken. All the Time Masters had to do was rearrange the pieces into the shape they wanted. Deep behind Chronos’ dead eyes Mick knew better than to resist day-to-day manipulation. He had to stay hidden until the time was right. When he was ordered to the med bay he reported dutifully, disrobed and lay back on the examination table. A masked technician restrained his arms and put his feet in stirrups. 

“This is necessary for your health,” explained a voice coming through an unseen speaker. It spoke of Chronos’ success as a hunter. He was of great value to the Time Masters, and they wanted to keep him in top condition. He barely twitched when a cold fluid hit his balls and the tech probed him with a gloved finger.

**What is the purpose of this?**Chronos was confused.

The voice said that this _treatment _was needed to prevent inflammation that could result from extensive time travel. The tech pulled a cart to the foot of the table. Chronos couldn’t see what was on it, but soon heard the whir of a motor, and then there was something inside him, moving back and forth. It was strange, and Chronos called upon Mick’s memories of the intake process at Iron Heights. Prisoners were searched to ensure no one brought in contraband. Inevitably someone would complain about the guard’s cold hands, setting off a chorus of snorts and stifled chuckling. Chronos tried to convince himself that this was no different, but Mick knew that cavity searches, while unpleasant, never made him nauseous. Thankfully it was over soon, and Chronos did not ask any of the other hunters if they had experienced the same discomfort. Social interaction was not necessary to the fulfillment of his duties.

The next time he was ordered to seek to treatment he spread his legs without hesitation and kept his expression blank, while below the surface Mick’s panicked inner voice tried to make jokes. 

_You’re not gonna buy me dinner first? You never called after last time._

Chronos was silent, concerned about the sensations of arousal caused by the intrusion. Of course, it was irrelevant. His body was vessel for the will of the Time Masters.

_Why am I hard?_

Awareness of his body’s response caused his heart rate to spike, and various monitors began to beep loudly. 

**Be still.**

The technician did nothing, but the disembodied voice informed him. “There is no need for concern, Chronos. Your reaction is expected. You will not be punished.” He ejaculated shortly thereafter.

During subsequent treatments he slipped into a trance-like state. The voice droned while the machine did its work. “You have served us well. Pleasure is permitted.” Following the moment of release there was a brief period of contentment as the technician turned off the machine and wiped him clean. Once, when he was close to the edge, Mick met the tech’s eyes and held her gaze as relief and shame washed over him. While donning his armor he found himself staring at her hands as she discarded her protective gloves. 

_I can’t remember the last time someone touched me._

“Please.” The word escaped his lips before Chronos could stop it.

The technician said nothing, but the voice had heard. “What was that, Chronos?”

“Nothing to report,” he replied automatically.

Despite Chronos’ effectiveness as a hunter he continually failed to capture Rip Hunter and his crew. Chronos seethed, while Mick was curious. 

_Did they leave Haircut behind? _

**It doesn’t matter. We failed to capture the Waverider.**

_They can’t just abandon…_

**We must fulfill our duty. What does it matter that the crew is split? We pursue Hunter.**

Time Master Declan put him through another round of intrusion, taking him back to the Soviet prison, refreshing his recollection of that agony. However, this time Mick knew something wasn’t right about what he saw in his supposed memory. He sat in his time ship trying to work it all out. 

_Haircut wasn’t in a cell while I got beat. He was right there next to me, shooting his mouth off. _

**Ray Palmer is irrelevant. **

_He’s a good man. He took a beating for us, no, for me. He said I was more than…_

**You are more. You are-we are-I am Chronos.**

_I’m Mick. I know I’m Mick Rory._

**We serve the Time Masters.**

_Time Pigs is more like. And I don’t work for pigs._

**I am Ch…**

_Shut up! Just shut up already. This is all Snart’s fault. We need to kill Snart and then we can get out of this. _

**We will kill Snart, and the Englishman**

_And then?_

** _I don’t know._ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick struggles to find himself - set during S2

Chronos’ last act was to kill Time Master Declan as Mick had promised they would. Abruptly he was down to a single voice in his head, and it was exhausted. One morning, after the team’s victory over Savage, Mick shuffled into the Waveriders’ med bay. “I need to report an anomalous physical occurrence,” he mumbled. 

“Good morning, Mister Rory,” Gideon responded. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Mick shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if he’d just woken up. “Gideon?”

“Yes, Mister Rory.”

“Never mind.”

Unable to banish his ever-present anxiety he returned a few days later. “Gideon, I can’t stop eating. I’m hungry all the time.”

“I will perform a metabolic assessment.”

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good.” Mick groaned as he sat in the treatment chair to have his blood drawn.

“I cannot help but note that your blood pressure is higher than normal, and that you seem fatigued.”

“Can’t sleep either,” he added.

Gideon detected a mild vitamin deficiency and suggested regular checkups. She asked so nicely that Mick agreed, and over time, gave the ship’s AI an overview of what he’d experienced as Chronos. He rarely slept through the night and relied on beer to provide any sense of calm. He fidgeted while Gideon attempted to explain how meditation might be beneficial. 

“Mister Rory, may I know what is troubling you today? I assure you that everything will be kept in the strictest confidence. Not even Captain Hunter can compel me to reveal what I may hear.”

“My dick doesn’t work,” Mick grumbled, his face hot. “Every morning since I was eleven years old it’s been…but now doesn’t ever.”

The two seconds of silence that followed his confession were an eternity to Mick, but Gideon started right back up as if he hadn’t said anything unusual. “Insomnia, increased appetite, and sexual irregularities do not seem unusual for someone who is withdrawing from the cocktail of drugs regularly administered to hunters by the Time Masters. I believe the symptoms will pass in time after a period of adjustment to normal stimuli.”

A week later he returned, hands clenched into fists. “I can’t stand it anymore. Feels like I’m burning from the inside. You gotta give me a treatment.”

“Mister Rory, I have performed extensive searches through my data banks and, unsurprisingly, what you were subjected to served little purpose medically speaking. It was undoubtedly a means of control, and, quite possibly, for someone else’s enjoyment.”

Mick coughed on the bile that rose into his throat. He’d always known someone was watching, but thinking back on it now it seemed worse for some reason. “Why do I feel this way?”

There was no judgement in Gideon’s tone. “It is possible that your body became accustomed to that form of stimulation as a reward. I could fabricate something to ease your discomfort.”

Alone in his room with a six pack of beer and a tapered rubber plug in his anus, Mick was finally able to relax. He started reading a cheap romance novel like the kind he used to enjoy back in the joint. Usually pickings were slim by the time the library cart got to his cell block, though Mick never minded. The stories were easy to understand and the chicks on the cover were hot. When the main character of Passion’s Price unlaced her bodice, Mick began to rock himself back and forth, enjoying the familiar sensation. He finished the book and was able to sleep for five hours.

As Gideon predicted, Mick’s body slowly recovered and he was relieved to find that the sharpness of his needs decreased. Still, he struggled to find his footing. Before everything went to hell, and he ended up in stasis, Mick acquired a variety of toys; trying to figure out what felt best. His hand had been good enough for most of his life, but now it seemed he needed help getting off. He always triple-checked the lock mechanism on his door before dimming the lights. His jeans were pushed down over his hips as he applied a liberal amount of slippery stuff to whatever hunk of silicone he was trying next, and then got it inside without preamble. After what seemed like a lifetime in Chronos’ armor Mick now felt uncomfortably exposed without it. He wore gloves almost all the time so Gideon made him several pairs that he was able to sanitize. Despite years of communal showering, he would barely wait for the water to get lukewarm in the Waverider’s private bathroom before he jumped into the stall for a quick scrub down. He didn’t like to look at himself in the mirror afterward. He feared he might see Chronos’ dead eyes staring back at him.

As frustrated as he was with his body, Mick’s brain presented him with different challenges. His conscious mind still had a tendency to retreat when presented with stressful situations; leaving him on autopilot. He also felt tired most of the time, which made sense seeing as how it didn’t matter whether he set out to get a decent night’s sleep, or drank until he passed out. He couldn’t do a damn thing about the nightmares. Mick was accustomed to witnessing to his family home going up in flames, or clowns jumping out of closets at him, but the newest batch of recurring dreams were a different kind of hell. Sometimes he relived Chronos’ missions; the violence and apathy a gut-wrenching combination. But frequently his dream self was strapped to the examination table in the hunters’ medbay. Often he would wake up before the treatment was finished, and then had to make the decision whether to deal with his body’s response, or remain frustrated by it. The worst visions were those where he couldn’t see what was going on, but felt everything keenly. He felt like he was being cut open slowly and there a voice, syrupy and sweet, telling him he was a “good boy”. Those had him screaming into the darkness.

One restless night, Mick dreamed that Ray was standing next to him in the med bay, smiling and speaking gently. He told Mick that he needed to stay strong. Mick woke up drenched in cold sweat, embarrassed by how much he enjoyed dream Ray’s encouragement. Speaking of Haircut, the idiot let Pretty blow up his precious suit and then he started moping around like a sad dog. It was depressing as hell to witness. Clearly Ray needed someone to show him how to man up, and also how to make a decent sandwich.

The problem with Haircut, well one of them, was how damn touchy-feely he was. He’d be talking with his hands, and accidentally brush up against Mick’s arm, which set off a chain reaction where Mick would flinch, get angry with himself for being upset at incidental contact, and then there was usually yelling and cringing followed by apologies. 

When Haircut had the balls to put on Len’s jacket, Mick was overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t name. His first thought had been “It looks good on him”, which led to silently cursing Len for leaving him with the handsome idiot. Chronos would have clamped down on random thoughts like that. They were unproductive, but without a sense of order or control Mick was at the mercy of random impulses and it was like a touch of his old madness creeping in. Amaya called it the animal inside him, and had stated confidently that he could control it. While he didn’t entirely believe her, Mick was relieved that she hadn’t ever seemed frightened of him. Amaya was an intriguing combination of smart, pretty, and deadly. He was surprised to find that he didn’t mind when she kissed his cheek. It felt nice, even though he didn’t wanna bone her. 

Mick found that he was embarrassingly eager to try out his newest toy; a battery-operated prostate stimulator. He talked himself through preparations for its use. Even masturbation had become a focused mental exercise where he would remind himself that he was allowed to feel good. Once it was in place, he knelt on the floor and gripped the weight bench for support, quickly reaching the point where he was slobbering onto his own arm, trying to stifle his moans. As the tremors intensified Mick began to wish for clever fingers to tug on his balls or pinch his sensitive nipples. “Haircut,” he moaned at the end, immediately regretting bringing his new partner into this sick ritual.

He cleaned everything up and hid it away, swearing to himself he wouldn’t do it again, only to break that vow the next time Ray smiled or laughed or did something amazing but acted completely casual about it. He justified the indulgence by telling himself that Ray would never know about his fantasies. Then one day Ray was careless with the rebuilt cold gun and came close to injuring himself. Mick grabbed the scientist’s hand, holding on just a second too long. Recoiling, he prepared to make excuses, but Ray didn’t chastise him, or make a dumb joke. Instead he said, “It’s okay, Mick. You can hold my hand if you want.”

“Why you bein’ so nice? I was just chewin’ you out.”

“Well I did almost blast myself in the foot. Hey, look how far we’ve come. You helped me put together the new and improved cold gun, and I have enough dwarf star alloy rebuild my suit. Things are looking up. I know I’ve said it before, but thank you for helping me out when I was having a hard time.” Ray held out his hand. Mick frowned at it. 

“I can’t do somethin’ nice for somebody? Like I’m gotta take somethin’ in trade?” 

Ray’s eyes got wide, looking adorably flustered. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean...” Before he could say another word, Mick grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him soundly. It felt right; more so than anything else had for an awfully long time. The younger man’s lips were unexpectedly soft. Shit, he’d never kissed a guy before. Was he doing it right? The itchy tickle of the other man’s stubble on his cheek distracted him for a second and he pulled back, which gave Ray the chance to finish his statement. “Please, believe me. I’d never do this out of a warped sense of obligation. I want to be with you.”

Mick stripped off his gloves and tugged at Ray’s shirt. “Wanna touch you so damn bad,” he breathed, fingers searching out contact with bared skin. They stood there, arms wrapped around each other, and Mick wished that the kissing and caressing could go on forever. But Ray wasn’t some dumb teenager who’d just want to make out, or a bored cell mate who’d blow him in exchange for a few packets of instant noodles. What would he say when Ray asked what he liked- that lately he’d been having a good time shoving things in his ass? Seized by doubt, Mick stepped back, holding Ray at arm’s length. “No!” he said too loudly. “We can’t. I can’t. I can’t do this.”

Ray, understandably, looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Retrieving his gloves from the floor, Mick quickly covered his trembling fingers. “We just can’t. I shouldn’t have tried.” It was stupid to think he could have anything real with someone like Ray. Mick avoided him for a long time after that, pretending that the whole kissing thing had never happened. He went back to drinking alone at night. The nightmares got worse, and then the hallucinations began. He couldn’t begin to explain the terror he felt at the possibility that he was still being controlled by Time Pig tech, and finding out that he wasn’t was small relief. Every day was a battle, but Mick found ways to be useful, and helped the Professor and Jax bring the Englishman back to his senses.

Mick watched warily as Rip came on the bridge, bruised and humbled as he greeted his old crew. Later, when he ran into the Waverider’s former captain in the library, Mick found Hunter’s tired and dazed expression eerily familiar. “Mister Rory, Professor Stein tells me that I have you to thank for both my rescue and return of my wits.”

Mick shrugged, though he was quietly pleased at the acknowledgement. Normally he would have let things lie between them, but he’d already been at the whiskey and was loose lipped. “I hated you so much,” he got out through gritted teeth. “For roping Snart and me into your mess, for turning him against me, and for everything the Time Pigs did to me - making me into their puppet.”

Hunter appeared chastened. “It occurs to me that I’ve not actually apologized to you for that, Mister Rory. I truly regret that my actions led to your mistreatment.”

Mick sneered. “You just wanted me dead, right?” 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Everything’s complicated now, an’ not just for me. Dahrk had you under his control, made you do some not nice stuff. Reckon you’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout it for a long time.”

“Of that I have no doubt. I wouldn’t presume that this makes us even, but perhaps we could set aside the past to work together again against a common foe.” Rip looked sad. “You are correct in that I have rather a lot to make up for.” 

“Atonement,” Mick blurted as he belched. “I know what that is now that I’m smarter than a pork chop.”

“Touche, Mister Rory. My hope for us all is not only that we are cleverer than Dahrk, Merlin, and Thawne, but that we are wiser. If we recover the Spear of Destiny we must all be able to resist it’s lure.”

A shiver ran up Mick’s spine as he heard his mother’s voice teaching him his bedtime prayers. _Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Mick did on his Aruba vacation (the first one). He made a friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Aruba, but Google was very helpful.

Mick had done his part to deliver the team from evil, or at least doom. It was the least he could do since he'd helped get them there in the first place. Making his way to Aruba wasn’t as easy as jumping in and out of the temporal zone. First he had to pull a handful of smash and grabs for walking around money. Then he laid low for a few days planning some proper crimes while keeping a look out for Hunter’s new goons in suits in case they decided that he needed fixing. 

He spent a few days in Las Vegas, building up his island getaway fund and waiting for the ink to dry on new identification. On impulse Mick decided to spend a portion of his newly acquired wealth at a ranch on the outskirts of town where a woman who introduced herself as Angel didn’t bat an eye at his choice to remain fully clothed while she worked. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine it was like the old days, when he’d pocket his share of the take and go on a bender with the first decent-looking chick that smiled at him. His head swam with endorphins and happy memories and he drifted a bit, only to be brought back to the present by the rising urgency in his nether regions. His mouth opened, and the words that came out were sickeningly familiar. “Is it permitted?” Angel was very professional, and didn’t seem offended that he zipped up his jeans and called a cab as soon as he finished. Mick stared out the window on the ride back, feeling the cold of the desert seeping into his core. 

Once he was finally in Aruba Mick got a cabana at an adults-only resort and opened a tab at the beach side bar. Next, he found a bank in Oranjestad with security that would have given the old Central City crew pause. He put his ill-gotten gains in a safety deposit box and was meandering through the streets when he came upon three teenage boys harassing a woman. She was trying to walk past them, her hunched shoulders indicating distress, which set Mick’s teeth on edge. As he approached one of them shouted, “Come on, show us your tits!” 

Mick grabbed one boy by the collar and pushed him into the second. They stumbled, tripping over their feet as the third cowered. “Go be assholes somewhere else,” Mick advised, putting his low growl to good use. As they scattered like pigeons, the woman they’d been hassling stood up straight and adjusted her floppy straw hat. 

“Thank you kindly,” she said with a Southern drawl. 

“No big. Buncha punks with no manners.”

She smiled shyly. “Usually I can take care of myself, but I’m still a little woozy. Wasn’t sure I could swing my purse without falling down.” Mick saw that they were standing in front of a doctor’s office. 

“Do you need to go back inside?”

“No, no. I’ll be fine. I live on the next block over.” She gestured toward the beginning of a row of apartment buildings across the square. 

“I’ll make sure you get there okay.” 

“Well aren’t you sweet?” Not waiting for an invitation, she stepped closer and curled her arm under his. “My name’s Shawna. What’s your name, handsome?”

“Mick. Let’s get you home.”

The next afternoon, Mick had a nagging feeling that he ought to do something other than sample Caribbean beers and try on sunglasses. He decided to walk through the city center again, in case the kids from the day before were giving someone else a hard time. As luck would have it, Shawna was there, feeling steadier on her feet judging by her bright red heels. He was about a hundred feet away when it occurred to him that perhaps she wouldn’t want to see him again. He came to a dead stop just as she spotted him. “Hi Mick!” she called out with a cheery wave. 

“Hi, uh, I was just wondering if you were doin’ okay. Looks like you are. That’s good.” He cringed inwardly. 

Shawna grinned and held out a hand, wiggling her long fingers tipped with freshly painted nails. “I was hoping I’d see you again. Walk with me?” 

Mick let her put her hand on the cuff of his long sleeve, noting that it didn’t bother him at all. Before he could worry about making small talk Shawna started peppering him with questions. “What brings you to Aruba? How long are you staying? Where are you staying? Have you tried the fried plantains at Que Pasa, and for heaven’s sake why are you dressed like you’re afraid it’s gonna start snowing?”

“Uh, I haven’t figured out what to wear yet,” he replied honestly. “Maybe, if you wanted to, you could help me with that.”

She squealed with delight. “Yes, yes, we’ll go shopping. First plantains and then shopping.”

Shawna took him to a place where the food was as good as the booze, and he had to admit it was nice hanging out with someone. Shawna clearly didn’t mind that he wasn’t a great conversationalist. In less than fifteen minutes he found out that she was in Aruba to take a break from her hectic life and get some things “fixed up” as she put it. Mick quickly concocted a story about working for an international security firm. Shawna whistled in response. “Goodness. Is that why you’re all buttoned up – you’re used to suits? No, that’s not it. You’re more of a tactical armor type.” 

Mick’s back stiffened, and he found himself being completely candid once again. “No, um, well, it’s cuz I got scars.”

“Honey, don’t we all?”

He finished chewing a golden-brown plantain before pulling up one sleeve to show her exactly what he meant. “Arms and legs. Ain’t pretty.”

Shawna ran the tip of her left index finger around the rim of her glass then licked the salt off. “Funny thing about being pretty. It doesn’t always come easy.”

“But you,” Mick stopped himself mid-sentence, unsure how to say what he was thinking. “Don’t know why, or how, I’m talking to you like this,” he admitted. 

“It’s my Southern charm, well that and I think we have something in common. We’ve both been hiding in plain sight for as long as we can remember.” She laughed at his confused expression. “Oh, sweetie. It takes someone acting tough to know one. Now me, I made the decision a while back to throw open the curtains and step into the sunshine. Found the right doctors, took the right pills, changed my name and saved my pennies so I could come here for the finishing touches. Those rude boys, they’ve seen me go in and out of that plastic surgeon’s office more than once. They knew I’d just gotten my boobs done. Some folks think it’s fine to make fun of a girl who’s different.” Shawna drummed her fingers nervously on the tabletop, like she was waiting for something unpleasant to happen. 

It clicked in his head what she was trying to tell him, so Mick cleared his throat. “There’s no reason to treat a lady like that,” he stated earnestly. Her broad smile gave him butterflies. Then she winked at him.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. If I’d been feeling more sure of myself I would have done something very unladylike.”

Mick huffed. “What, like hit ‘em with your big hat? Stomp on their toes? Call ‘em scoundrels?”

Shawna’s laugh was loud and proud and he liked the sound of it. “Thank goodness there was a gentleman there to defend my honor.”

It was Mick’s turn to chuckle. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that ain’t one of ‘em. I guess I’m tryin’ ta be a good guy. It’s not easy. I don’t know what to do next.” 

“Get another drink?” Shawna suggested.

“That’s always a good idea. Then you gotta help me find something to wear. I’m melting.”

Shawna helped Mick pick out an island appropriate wardrobe, though he drew the line at the tiny swim trunks she kept suggesting. Back at his cabana he changed into linen pants, a gauzy shirt, and flip flops. He took a deep breath and hit the beach with renewed confidence. They were in touch nearly every day by phone or in person. He walked her to all her post-op check-ups while she, in turn, would drag him away from his beach chair to eat real food. Their favorite pastime was people-watching. Mick found that, with a little prompting, he could make up elaborate stories involving passers-by. Sometimes he drew on his time with the Legends for material. “What about her?” Shawna asked, nodding toward a woman checking her watch and tapping her foot impatiently. “Is she mad or just excited?”

Mick eyed the woman and made a serious face. “She just found out she’s the reincarnation of a goddess. She’s can only find love with her soulmate, but he got hit by a bus so she’s trying to hook up with a new guy and he’s late.” 

Shawna snickered as a fresh-faced young man approached the now frowning woman. “Oh look, there’s her rebound man now.” 

“Poor bastard,” Mick muttered. 

The bartender slid a fresh basket of pretzels down to the end of the bar the pair had claimed as their own. They behaved themselves, with the possible exception of happy hour when mai-tais were half off and Mick had to take greater care getting off and on his bar stool. And they tipped well so the staff didn’t mind if they loitered a bit. “He likes you,” Shawna said in a sing-song voice. 

“Huh? Who?”

“Bryce. He’s been making us drinks for two weeks. Don’t play coy. You make your happy face when he pours you a little extra rum.” 

“I don’t have a happy face, and who doesn’t like extra booze?”

“He’s looking your way again.”

“Probably wondering why I’m wearing a kid’s shirt.” Mick looked flustered, and pulled nervously at the thin cotton stretched over his torso. “Told you this thing was too small.” 

“Looks like he wants to take a bite outta you.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Cuz you’re a sexy hunk of a man.”

“If you say so.” Mick tilted his head so she wouldn’t see him blushing.

Shawna sighed dramatically. “Sugar, I’ve seen you lookin’. You might not _say_ anything about the cute boy butts that bounce through here, but you look at ‘em all the same.” 

“You’re imagining things. How much have you had to drink today.”

“Nothing but club soda. Can’t have my blood gettin’ too thin before my next procedure. Come on, let’s go to my place. It’s high time we had a serious conversation.”

Mick followed reluctantly, knowing that she was going to ask questions he didn’t want to answer, and if he tried to hide, she’d likely hunt him down and drag it out of him anyway. She was worse than Haircut, and had sharper nails.

Shawna sat cross-legged on the loveseat opposite his favorite chair, staring him down.

Mick sniffed. “Dunno what you want me to say. Yeah so there’s some pretty guys around here. Not gonna buy ‘em flowers and ask ‘em to dance.” Shawna’s raised eyebrow was all it took to break him. “It wasn’t like this before. I didn’t want to, at least I don’t think I did. Maybe just not as much. There’s a lot I can’t remember.” He laced his fingers together and held his head tightly between his forearms. “They messed with my head – changed me. Not even Gideon knows how much.” He could feel the telltale signs that he was going to slip away and was glad he had told her that Gideon was his team’s medic. “I couldn’t stop them…had to be still so they wouldn’t see I was still me inside. Have to stay hidden. Can’t ever be soft.”

When he came back to himself, his head was resting on a pillow in Shawna’s lap while she rubbed his back and hummed quietly. “M’sorry,” he mumbled, feeling too weak to move.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Mick. I didn’t know you were a survivor.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s not like that. They didn’t…I mean, they used stuff.”

“Doesn’t matter, sweetie. You didn’t want them to do it. That makes it r-”

“Don’t say it,” he pleaded. “Don’t like that word. I’ve done a lotta bad stuff, Shawna. It hurts now and I don’t know why. God, I’m so tired.”

“Sleep then. You’re in a safe place. I’ll watch over you.”

Blessedly he slept without dreaming and woke up to the sun shining through the windows and the smell of coffee brewing. He sat up slowly and eyed the door. “Don’t even think about it, mister,” Shawna called from the kitchen. He used the bathroom and returned to the couch to wait until she brought him a mug. “No apologizing either. In fact, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I’m not letting you leave until I’m know you’re all right.” Her stern expression made him want to laugh, or maybe cry. It was definitely a new feeling. She was obviously worried, and he didn’t want her to fuss over him. 

He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Look,some stuff happened a while ago and I'm dealing with it. I didn't used to care who saw my scars, or throw punches because someone bumped into me. But I think it’s sorta getting better. I don’t mind you bein' close.”

She looked speculative. “Maybe it’s because I’m so sweet and nonthreatening?”

He scowled. “You dumped me outta my chair yesterday.”

“You looked like a bum passed out there.”

“So what? No one can tell me where to go, what to do, when to sleep, what to eat. I’m in charge of me.”

Shawna sighed and shook her head. “Can’t argue with that I suppose.”

With Shawna’s support Mick made progress toward what she called a soft goal; showing more skin. He started by wearing his short-sleeved Hawaiian shirts without anything underneath to cover his arms. Then it was shorts on the beach. She found him some meditation CDs to help him on bad days, and introduced him to the concept of touch therapy. One day he decided he was ready to walk into the surf wearing only a sensible pair of trunks. Shawna, on the other hand, was wearing the brightest red swimsuit she could find. “Doesn’t it feel wonderful?” she asked as the waves crashed into his bare shoulders. He wiped salt water from his eyes and grimaced as she draped a piece of seaweed over his scalp. “No one is staring, and even if they were all they would see is a couple people out here having fun."

“Well in that case…” Mick picked her up and tossed her into the surf, drenching the hair she’d so carefully put wound on top of her head. She shrieked and started throwing handfuls of sand in his direction while he laughed out loud like he hadn’t in years.

When Shawna figured out that Mick hadn’t seen some of the best movies of the last decade she started suggesting they stay inside during the heat of the afternoon to watch something. It reminded him of when Nate and Ray would cajole him into joining them for movie nights on the Waverider. He missed those guys, and knew that someday soon he would be missing Shawna. She was getting ready to start a new life, and the money he had would run out eventually. He wasn’t about to cause problems on the island just to spend a few more days on the beach. “You know, someday, if I just disappear, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“You planning on being kidnapped by aliens?” Shawna made a pouty face. “No fair. I wanna get probed too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just sayin’ that my past has a way of catchin’ up with me.”

“Just think of me when you finally feel brave enough to wear that sarong.”

When that day came Mick couldn’t believe his eyes, because it sure looked like Julius Cesar was standing in front of him. He couldn’t remember if he was on his third or fourth margarita that morning, but alcohol couldn’t explain everything. Ironically, he had just been sitting there, trying to figure out his next move. “Guess it’s time to get back to work.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick's mental journey through portions of S3 - from the terror of the jungle to the glory of totem bearer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upon re-watching Welcome to the Jungle I realized that the show gives a passing nod to Mick's psychic pain by showing him self-harming. I believe that internal turmoil results in the the emotional shutdown he displays in Necromancing the Stone. 
> 
> It is not necessary to understand this chapter, but if you would like to read the in-depth, cathartic, discussion that Mick and Leo eventually had please check out my short fic "Breakdown". 
> 
> Also, some of Mick's dialogue during Season 3 led me to the belief that he may have had a religious upbringing or maybe went to church when he was in jail because it's better than sitting in your cell 24-7.

Once the team got back together, Mick resumed his position at the edge of their shared lives, watching over the others. Haircut and the Professor were always up to something in their lab. The kid complained about the Time Bureau’s apparent neglect of the Waverider, but he loved getting his hands dirty re-tuning the engines. Mick was glad to see Amaya again, but Pretty was a mess. The Boss was nervous, but she’d get it all under control. Mick believed in her.

Things got weird pretty fast, with spirits and totems and a new chick who loved late night snacking as much as he did. They had some fun saving little Haircut and almost getting to kill a vampire, but when Mick met his dad it took everything he had not to fall apart on the spot. It’d been over a year since he’d needed the flame, only to find now that it offered no relief. For the first time Mick his father, not as the shadowy oppressive figure of his fragmented memory, but a real person. Dick Rory might have been a stubborn son of a bitch, but he was just a man; shaped by his experiences, and struggling to live with his mistakes, chief among them not smothering his infant son who would only grow up to be a worthless psycho.

That night Mick wandered all over the ship in a daze, desperate for something to untie the knots in his gut. Gideon quit fabricating booze when she realized he was actively trying to kill brain cells, and then locked him out of the jump ship so he couldn’t go someplace and get his face smashed in. He ended up tucking himself into a corner by the trash compactor with a notebook and a pencil furiously writing down anything and everything that popped into his head.

_I scared people. I hurt people. I was sick but that’s no excuse for beating on people. Dad was a jerk, and I can’t remember a single day where he didn’t yell at me. But he never killed anybody except in the war. He always had a job and took care of Mom cuz he loved her. I loved Mom. I let Mom burn. _

By the time morning came Mick’s lower half was numb and his eyes were dry and scratchy. Jax happened upon him clearly by accident. “Hey man, what’s going on? Missed you last night for pie.”

“I’m no good,” Mick concluded, as if the younger man was somehow aware of his hours-long internal conversation. 

Jax rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, Nate said you met your dad. I’m guessing it was pretty rough.” 

Mick looked up wearily. “You met yours that one time.” 

Jax sat down next to him. “Uh huh. Before that all I knew were my mom’s stories and pictures. It made him almost unreal. Getting to talk to him for a little bit, even though I knew what had to happen, was a gift. Look, I get that your old man may not have been the greatest. I figure if my dad had been in my life it wouldn’t have been sunshine and rainbows every day. No one’s perfect.” He pointed to the notebook in Mick’s lap. “Grocery list?”

“Wrote down all the bad stuff I’ve done. All the reasons I shouldn’t be al...you all should’ve killed me when…”

Jax cut him off, “Your Mom took you to Sunday school, right?”

“Till I got kicked out, yeah.”

“Then you know what the Lord says about forgiveness.”

Jax stood up, snatched the notebook from Mick, and threw it into compactor. “Now you’ve repented. Get some sleep. When you wake up, do better. I _know_ you can.” Mick got to his feet and shuffled stiffly to his room where he slept soundly for the rest of the day.

When Gideon announced that he had been invited to Barry Allen’s wedding Mick was giddy. “Hey Boss, I’m taking the jump ship. Gotta go shopping.” When he showed his haul to Amaya she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Forty toasters, Mick? Forty? Why not fifty?”

“Didn’t wanna overload the outlets. Hey, Red can eat a lotta toast. So, uh, how’s it goin’ with the powers and stuff?”

“You bought wedding gifts and now you’re worrying about me? This is new.”

“Hey if you wanna suit up and punch it out instead of talking I’m down with that.”

She bit her lip for a moment. “I’ll settle for a hug.” 

Mick’s cheeks felt warm. “I can go get Ray,” he teased while holding his arms open. She laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re all right,” he assured her. “It’ll work out, or maybe we’ll break time again.”

“There’s no in-between?”

“Dunno. Life’s fulla surprises.”

Like the Professor dying. That was an unwelcome surprise. One day he and Jax were there like always and then they just weren’t, and new people kept showing up, like fake. How could a messed-up Nazi Earth make a nice guy like that? He was a lurker like Snart, and nosy too. After another attempt to have a heart-to-heart ended in a Mick screaming at him like a lunatic they finally sat down and had a drink together. Mick looked at Leo thoughtfully. 

“I know you’re fightin’ the good fight over there on your Earth, and you could probably use some help, but these folks, they’re not killers.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m here to recruit your friends to come fight my war? If I’m not mistaken, you’re in the midst of a battle of your own, one with cosmic implications. No, you’ve all done more than enough for me and mine. I truly wanted a chance to get to know what life is like for you and your team. It’s interesting to say the least. Don’t worry, Mick. I wouldn’t take your family from you or you from them. They need you.” Mick sniffed skeptically. 

Within the confines of his room, Mick had begun to accumulate a few creature comforts: an air mattress so he didn’t have to sleep sitting up all the time, some soft blankets that felt good on his bare skin, and a pillow to sit on while he was listening to the meditative CDs that Shawna found. The background music was some new age-y crap, but he liked the gentle voice that told him that he in control of his own body. He was allowed to feel good and to make himself feel good. To that end his porn search keywords began to include _muscle _and _kissing. _It was nice to see guys that looked sort of like him touching each other the way he touched himself. He liked to imagine that someday he might be with a guy and it would be fun and sexy just like in the little love stories he wrote when he wasn’t trying to finish Buck's adventures.

After the stress of searching for Haircut, and then losing Axel, Mick felt the need for solitude. Occasionally he slept in the nude, and was almost to the point he could get through the night without a bad dream. As he stripped down, he whispered, “This is my safe place. No one can touch me without my permission.” He was rudely awakened by a whirlwind only to find himself on the bridge covered by a robe. “Who dressed me?” he asked groggily. He could see Zari cringe sympathetically, but then right away Sara started talking about a mission to rescue a dog. Mick wasn’t about to help save some mutt. His privacy had been invaded for the second time and no one gave a damn. He was in such a bad mood he couldn’t even enjoy watching Haircut do science. He just wanted to drink until he forgot how humiliated he felt. People kept popping up on the ship and it hard to know who was who and why they were there. Then all of a sudden Ray was hurt, and for the first time in almost a year he almost shut down. Nearly paralyzed by fear, he said some things he didn’t mean. What did they expect him to do against a demonically possessed Sara? She could kick his ass even without freaky powers.

Amaya said he was worthy, and she sounded so sure that he picked it up the totem. Its power raced through him, gathering up stray bits and pieces of _stuff _inside him and fusing them to the framework Mick envisioned inside himself. The sensation was incredible. Suddenly it was as if a weight were lifted off him and the last wisps of fog in his head dissipated. Instinctively he held up his hand, and said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t hurt Sara.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up and the team returns to Aruba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My short piece "Happy Family" is sort of a companion to this chapter.

Apparently assisting with an exorcism as as good as a shot of espresso because no one aboard the Waverider was ready to settle in for the night. Mick made a grilled ham and cheese sandwich between his palms before popping into the med bay to scold his semi-conscious teammate. “Quit almost gettin’ killed.” He dodged the roll of gauze Amaya lobbed in his direction, muttering “That’s twice this year.” Next on the agenda was giving the speedster a stern talking to. “This ship is my home. Man’s got a right to feel safe in his bed.”

Wally was contrite. “You’re absolutely right. I got over-excited. I apologize.” Mick nodded decisively and tossed his cheese-encrusted gloves in the trash.

It figured that the totem came with responsibilities. Mick wanted to have a little fun, but Amaya decided he needed a babysitter who was being a killjoy. It took some time to bring Zari around, but once they came to an understanding Mick found the courage to ask her about something that had been eating at him. “How’d you find out about my stories? I’d know if you got into my stuff.” Zari explained the unique approach Gideon had taken help Zari see the team in a different light. Mick was impressed, and slightly concerned, at the lengths the ship’s AI would go to protect her crew. “You said liked it?” He asked casually, nibbling on some spinach only to confirm that he still hated the green weed. 

“I really liked it. You know, I’d love to see anything else you’re working on.”

Keeping his mask of stoicism in place was getting harder by the second. “Nah, I mean, if you have time. There’s a couple of other things I’m workin’ on. Wouldn’t mind a second opinion.” 

“That’s cool,” Zari replied with her mouth full. Mick decided she was all right for someone who didn’t want bacon. 

In the end they beat Mallus, Mollus, or whatever he called himself and Mick managed to escape the love-in that followed after their victory after one group hug. All that mattered to him was that his friends were safe. He knew Amaya had to go home for good, but the smile on her face when she realized that her granddaughters were alive and well told him she’d be all right. On the flip side, Mick knew he’d be seeing Nate’s sad face an awful lot in the next few days, so he went to the Waverider’s kitchen to get started on some comfort food. He needed Gideon’s help at first because mostly he knew how to make enough to chow to feed an entire criminal enterprise. Containers were filled and placed in the fridge with the lovelorn historian’s name on it. He had her look up some halal recipes while he was at it. 

The whole gang followed him to Aruba, timing their visit shortly after he’d left with Ceasar which wasn’t too bad because he got to introduce everybody to Shawna before she left the island. Mick saw her off with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to keep in touch via email. He returned to his cabana to find his bed occupied. Pretty and Haircut were sawing logs and practically spooning, which sparked feelings of both sadness and jealousy. He’d scoffed when Ray first called the team a family, but he deep down he knew it was true. Those two knuckleheads loved each other like brothers, and most days Mick thought he felt the same way even if he wasn't ready to show it like they were. His contemplative moment was interrupted by a Lady Gaga ringtone. He stepped outside and barked, “What?” 

Shawna started talking loud and fast, the way she did when she he was just supposed to listen and not ask questions. “Just about to take off and I forgot to tell you something. Get your stubborn ass to the bar and order a mai tai.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, deciding it was time to take a chance on himself.

He plunked down right in front of Bryce, who seemed pleased to see him. “Hey there, stranger. I like the sarong.”

“Thanks. It’s really comfortable.”

“You’re lookin’ good,” the bartender continued, mixing a double-strength mai-tai before Mick could even ask.

“Not so bad yourself.” Mick sipped at it and made noises of approval while watching the kid – young man - serve other customers. He felt a warmth in his chest that couldn’t entirely be attributed to the rum. Shortly thereafter, Bryce was tidying up when he threw out a question. “You wanna get outta here?” 

“If I’m botherin’ you, just say so,” Mick teased.

“Ha. I’m closing up in ten minutes. I thought maybe we could go someplace where you can do more than _look_ at my ass.”

Mick’s lips twitched. “Sounds fine to me.”

They made useless small talk on the way to Bryce’s apartment. He was headed to medical school in the Netherlands after the busy season was done, and Mick confided that he had written a book and was looking for a publisher. As soon as the door was shut behind them Bryce mouthed Mick’s collar bone. “Been wanting this all summer.”

Mick chuckled nervously. “I’ll try to make it worth the wait.” Warm hands snaked down the back of his sarong to squeeze his rear. His nervous system went on high alert, and he took a few deep breaths. _This is where I want to be. I can leave if I want to._

His stiffness did not go unnoticed by the younger man. “Hey, you okay?”

Mick bit his tongue, then put his hands flat on Bryce’s chest. “I want to do this. But I ain’t exactly the most experienced. It’d help if you went slow.”

Bryce’s face lit up. “Of course. I’m glad you told me. Let’s see where the night takes us.”

An hour later Mick was staring at a ceiling fan, his mind untroubled by doubt or regret. He just felt _good_. He heard the shower going and wondered if that was his cue to move along when Bryce stuck his head into the bedroom. “I could use some help with my back…and other parts.” Mick would never admit to making his happy face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was magical" doesn't always mean something good

Nate pounded on the bathroom door for a solid minute before Mick opened the door and let him in. He looked surprised. "Hey, it doesn’t smell that bad in here.”

Mick went straight to Zari’s room, knocked, and entered as soon as he heard a muffled, “What?”

“I need a second opinion.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, bleary eyed and yawning. “Haumm, you could wait until I’m decent.”

Mick snorted. “No one has that kinda time. Come on. Haircut says charcoal but I like black better.” He thrust two jackets on hangers forward. She blinked several times, her nose wrinkling.

“Are you wearing cologne?”

“It's aftershave. C’mon which one?”

She shook her head quickly and then gave the garments her full attention. “The black is classic, but the charcoal is understated and goes better with that shirt.”

“Ugh, fine, but no tellin’ Ray.” He turned to leave.

“Do you have a date or what?”

“Business meeting.”

“You know you’re not wearing pants, right?” 

“They're in the dryer,” he called over his shoulder.

Later that day several boxes of fancy chocolates appeared in the kitchen which was a nice treat for everyone who had dealt with the yeti and a misplaced 16th century Portuguese explorer. Mick had been otherwise engaged, signing a publishing contract.

Metahumans, aliens, and traveling through time and space, not to mention across dimensions, were all things Mick accepted as part of his reality, but for some reason he still had a hard time with magic. Maybe it was just a step to far in a life filled chaos, or perhaps it was that he really didn’t like magicians. He knew Amaya’s totem was technically magical, but it seemed to suit her so he’d never worried about it very much. But Damien Dahrk was a grade A jerk and John Constantine looked like a bad cop and smelled funnier than Mick's laundry. After the team got unicorn horn spooge in their eyes, and subsequently spent the afternoon tripping balls, Mick couldn’t help but lament that everything had been much simpler when he was robbing warehouses and doing torch jobs. 

He’d might have gotten used to havin’ friends that were like a family, but Mick was pretty sure he hadn’t ever done anything that would make someone believe he was a people person. And yet the Boss expected him to make nice with the clone chick, tolerate the lecher in the trench coat, and, on top of it all, hunt down magical fugitives and throw them into Hell and/or cells. He was actually glad when Ray put his foot down and insisted the team take a hard look at what they were doing before they condemned Charlie. Mick took an immediate liking to her. She could hold her booze, had good taste in music, and had a twisted sense of humor. Mick did have to establish some boundaries when she suggested a “bit o’ fun” in the cargo bay. “We’re not going to be that kind of friends,” he informed her gently, adding, “You don’t owe me, or anyone else, a piece of you.” Charlie shrugged, but before she flounced off he saw in her eyes that he’d gotten his point across. It would take time to rid herself of the mental shackles that come from living in situations where nothing is free and the odds of anyone having good intentions are just above zero. 

Finally, magic paid off for Mick in a big way. He watched Garima battling Tagumo, his heart bursting with joy and pride. The team scattered as he lay her down on the movie set and proceeded to make love to her as he’d fantasized for months. It was genuinely a dream come true, and nothing could spoil his good mood, not even Haircut’s hangdog expression the following day. “Nora turned herself in to the Time Bureau,” Zari explained. Mick sighed wearily. Leave it to Ray to fall for a chick he’d met three times and had tried to choke the life out of him. 

Mick refused to feel guilty about enjoying Garima’s company. A night with her required planning and a good deal of thinking on his feet, but was well worth any mental gymnastics. They fit together seamlessly. It was awesome, in every sense of the word, to finally have the opportunity for sexual exploration. Mick had spent much of his adult live craving intimacy and at last he had someone. He could never disappoint Garima because he knew her through and through. She, in turn, could never hurt him. How could what they had be wrong?

Of course life could never be sunshine and rainbows. Nate’s dad got killed, and Haircut was bein’ squirrely on the way to the funeral. Mick took him aside. “I know that look.” 

“What look?” Ray’s eyes were wide as saucers. 

“The Ray Palmer ‘I need to fix it’ face. You’re worried about Nate, and your new chick.”

“If she killed Hank then I don’t want anything to do with her.”

“Obviously, but she’s been tellin’ you she changed; turned herself in and everything. Doesn’t make sense she’d bump off Hank out of the blue.”

“I can’t figure it out either. I feel so bad for Nate, but I’m worried about Nora too.”

“Look, I don’t care if wanna write poems for her or whatever, but you gotta think carefully before you do somethin’ stupid and get yourself hurt. We can’t help Nate if we get turned into pigs again.”

The funeral was as awkward as the last one Mick had attended, but he was there to be supportive, and to keep Trenchcoat in line. The limey bastard tricked him into getting possessed by Hank’s spirit. It wasn’t painful but when Mick regained consciousness the blank spot in his mind was uncomfortably familiar. He forgot all about being a good friend and retreated to the Waverider as fast as he could.

The atmosphere on the ship had an odd charge to it; making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Mick wished he was carrying his heat gun. For a second he thought he was hallucinating as a mocha-colored cat approached and began rubbing against his leg. “Miiicck,” it purred. 

“That’s me.” Cautiously he followed the cat down the corridor, and when it stopped in front of Charlie’s room he realized his shape-shifting teammate was goofing around. “Hey, it’s been a long day so why don’t you just…” Abruptly she morphed back into her usual form, though without the benefit of clothing. Mick swiftly averted his eyes. 

Charlie giggled. “Are you afraid to see me, Mick?” Out of the corner of his eye, Mick could she shifted again into something lithe and aquamarine. “I can be whatever you want.”

He swallowed hard. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can, mate. I’m tired of denying myself pleasure. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t. Garima and I…”

Her sharp laughter hurt his ears. “Fine. Go play with your pretend lover. I’ll just see if Ray’s feeling better.”

“Leave him alone!” 

Charlie shifted again, and Mick found himself face to face with his oldest friend who was looking at him with a lascivious expression. “Is this what you want, then? I won’t tell. I'll do for you like this.” 

“Charlie, stop." When she bent to bite his shoulder it gave Mick a chance to grab her by the hair and push her off. She tripped backwards into her room. “I said no! Gideon! Lock her in until she comes to her senses.”

“Gladly, Mister Rory.” Mick put on a pot of coffee, and kept watch until morning. 

The aftermath of a having love god loose aboard the ship wasn’t all snickering and awkward glances. Mick understood that Charlie had been under the influence, and was genuinely remorseful. “I swear I didn't mean any of that nonsense. All that love stuff – singin’ and dancin’. It messed with my head.”

“I know. It’s just you pushed some buttons."

“You let me in, and I turned on you. I’m so sorry, Mick.”

Charlie wasn’t the only one with regrets. Ray paced in his lab and admitted nervously that Nora had been on the ship. The ex-con was glad to hear that the witch was still on the side of the angels and hadn’t broken Haircut’s heart. “She didn’t say anything before she left,” Ray continued babbling. “But that could have been to spare my feelings.”

Mick rubbed his head. “What exactly are we talkin’ about again?”

“Nora and I made love. At least that’s how I see it. If it hadn’t been for that love glitter or whatever it was maybe I wouldn’t have made a move.”

“She said she liked you, right?”

“Yes, but were we ready to take that step? I was a little aggressive.” 

Mick's hands clenched into fists. “She could have stopped you, right? I mean she’s got powers.”

“Sure. She could have blasted me out across the room. What I’m saying is…”

“Did you both consent? Yeah, I got it. Look, what’s done is done and you gotta figure it out together.”

“I hope I didn’t scare her,” Ray whispered. 

“Haircut, you couldn’t be that scary if you tried. Let the magicians get this demon thing wrapped up then you can take her on a real date and talk at her to your heart’s content.”

“Thanks, Mick. I always appreciate you listening to me vent.”

“Always got your back, partner.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conning Romanti-con doesn't go as plan, and when will demons stop beating up Ray?

They got as far as the front doors of the exhibition center before Mick began to regret letting Charlie talk him into what they were about to do. He should have gone Romanti-con just to get a feel for Rebecca’s fanbase, but Charlie was so excited for the score that he let her turn it into a job. He should have anticipated the organizers wanting some sort of demonstration she was who she claimed. Mick hurried to reassure Charlie, as well as himself, that they could still pull it off. “It’s not on the schedule,” he reasoned. “It might not be a huge draw.” Then the announcement came over the PA system that _the_ Rebecca Silver would be making an appearance and he could feel the excitement buzzing in the crowd all around them. There was no backing out.

Standing off stage, Mick willed Charlie to hold it together. Maybe she’d been out of the game too long because she did an awful job of thinking on her feet and reverted to her usual tactic of shouting at people. That’s when Mick knew he had to step in. First, he got Mona to cool it, and then set about salvaging his alter ego’s reputation. He just started talking, and somehow managed to communicate his motivations as a room full of people listened with interest. When they started clapping Mick was stunned. Mona pushed him toward the stage and where he answered questions about his work. Not everyone threw soft balls. One woman pointed an accusing finger at him, demanding, “What gives you the right to use a woman’s name and write stories about how women feel?”

Mick stammered a bit and tried to channel his inner Nate. “Women-men – we’re all people. We all have feelings. I don’t think love belongs to any gender. Besides, women used to use mens’ names to get published.” That seemed to satisfy her, and Mick marveled that telling the truth had never felt so good.

Mona redeemed herself by organizing an impromptu book-signing which drew in some of the convention attendees who hadn’t felt brave enough to speak in a large group. Most were happy to quietly say their names and get his – Rebecca’s - autograph. He met a few couples who thanked him for writing something they both enjoyed and there was even a single guy who asked if maybe he might someday write a queer character. “I’ll have to think about that,” Mick said diplomatically. 

He rode the incomparable high all the way back to Waverider only to have reality slap him across the face. “Whatta ya mean we lost Ray?” Mick stared at Nate’s bruised face in disbelief. On the bridge Zari was reviewing the footage from Gideon’s internal sensors. It turns out that demonic influences didn’t trip the AI’s internal defense systems. Gideon gave them the rundown. “Doctor Palmer made a valiant effort to resist Neron’s influence, but the demon was able to take control of his body. It was intent on killing Doctor Heywood.”

“Ray gave himself up to save Nate,” Zari surmised. 

Mick was fuming. “I wasn’t there again? Dammit!”

“You can’t go toe-to-toe with a demon like Neron,” she pointed out.

“Where’s the wizard?” Mick roared. “He was supposed to keep us safe!”

“He’s with Ray,” Sara replied grimly. “I mean Neron.”

Mick went to the ship’s makeshift gym and began throwing punches at anything in his path. The only thing greater than the guilt he felt over not being there was his fear that Ray was now trapped inside his own head; forced to watch as the demon used his body for some twisted purpose. After a sleepless night, during which he imagined a thousand different horrifying possibilities, Mick knew what had to be done. Pretty was wearing rose-colored glasses. There was only one thing to do and that was to save Haircut by cutting him loose. Mick was confused when Sara didn’t agree. She’d been possessed by a demon before and knew the stakes. If the Boss couldn't make the call, he would. He would live with it. 

“Fire.” 

Nate looked at him with disgust. Not only had they failed to kill Ne-Ray, but the resulting avalanche had doomed them all. Mick followed Sara like a lost dog, not bothering to try and explain himself. All his energies were focused on keeping calm in the face of this seemingly hopeless situation. “I miss hating him,” he blurted out, knowing that Sara could read between the lines and see what he meant was, “I can’t bear to lose him.”

Mick followed her lead and sat with his friends for what would probably be their last few hours. They drank un-spiked hot chocolate and played Ray’s game. He didn’t zone out, but there were moments when he had to fight a powerful urge to smash things or pray; possibly both. It came out that Pretty and Z had hooked up, and Mick was glad they'd grabbed a little bit of happiness while they could. 

They were saved by a miracle, or maybe it was luck. Whichever it was, the Waverider broke free and they lived to fight another day. Mick gladly offered up Brigit’s diary to the cause and did his part writing the “friendship is the real magic” script for the opening of Hey World. It was weird as hell, but at least they weren’t making a baby again. 

They won, but nothing seemed right. Nate almost died, or maybe he did die and they revived him with a song? The wizard was back, and so was the witch, wearing the fairy godmother’s poofy blue dress and doting on Haircut, who still looked sharp in a suit. Mick noped out of the group hug and made a beeline for the bridge to check in with Gideon to make sure time wasn’t busted. She humored him. “I’ve scanned everything twice, Mister Rory. There are minute ripples at the edges of the temporal zone, but I’ve found nothing to rise to the level of an anachronism. As you know, it is possible for events to occur naturally that alter the timeline as we know it, but they were always meant to have done so. If today qualifies as such an event I believe any lingering concern you have will likely dissipate over the next few hours.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Mick acknowledged. 

“Dragons, witches, and sing-a-longs are a lot to take,” Charlie agreed. “Join me for a drink?”

“Nah. I’m gonna turn in early.”

“Fine, old man.”

Mick didn’t have the energy to give her a withering look. He went to his room only to find Behrad sitting behind his desk, fiddling with his typewriter. “What the hell are you doin’ in here?”

The other man held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, if you’re not in the mood for company just say so. Thought you might wanna blow off some steam and you kept the handcuffs after last time.” 

“Huh?”

Behrad waggled his eyebrows. “You want me to wear the Flash costume again?”

Mick was deeply confused. He and Behrad weren’t screwin' around. Or maybe they were and that was the change to the timeline, but Mick couldn’t remember yet. “I shoulda had that drink,” he muttered, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to say. Then Behrad hopped up and slapped Mick on the back. 

“Man, you should see your face. I’m just kidding. You picked up my tablet by mistake last night. I just came by to trade.” Mick turned tail and ran, berating himself mentally. He was so stupid. How could he think, even for a second, that he would have something normal like a boyfriend in this or any time? Feeling like an idiot, he hid out in the lab and dozed in a corner, waking when Ray entered unexpectedly. “What the?”

“Ahh! Mick, you scared me. I didn’t expect to see you. Charlie said you went to bed hours ago.”

Mick cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I was gonna until Behrad…that guy sure thinks he’s funny.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Did pull an “oh the timeline changed and you don’t remember we’re friends with benefits” bit? He did that to me last year. He needs new material.”

He didn’t know whether it was the fatigue or emotional stress, but words just spilled out of Mick’s mouth. “I gave up on you,” he confessed. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it with a demon wearin’ your skin. I thought maybe you were stuck in there with him like I was when they made me Chronos and you would have to feel and see everything they did to you and made you do and you couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want you to…but then they said you were in Hell which doesn’t sound any better. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Ray seemed taken aback. “Wow, no, Mick you couldn’t have done anything. Neron was too strong. He would just have made me kill you instead of Nate. It’s all over now…I guess. It doesn’t quite feel real yet. I can’t sleep. Feel like I need to do something – anything.”

“I know how that is. Hey, you wanna make cookies? That’s what I do when I can’t sleep.”

“That sounds like fun.”

They decided on gluten-free chocolate chocolate chip and were waiting for the last batch to get out of the oven when Mick found himself getting sentimental. “Hey, you remember way back when we, uh, when I kissed you?”

“I remember.” 

Ray’s voice was quiet, but cut into Mick with ease. “I’msorryforbein’weird,” he said in a rush. “I was all messed up in the head and I didn’t know what I wanted yet. It took a long time to figure stuff out. Uh, I’m better now, not just cuz I’m not crazy. But a better person – like you said.”

Ray retrieved the tray from the oven and let the cookies settle for a few seconds before transferring them to the cooling rack. “I’m glad to hear that, Mick.” He sounded a little stiff. 

“I just…I don’t know if we could have been…” Mick saw Ray’s hands were shaking and changed gears. “I know you’re with Nora now. She’s seems cool.”

“What do you want me to say, Mick?”

“That you forgive me for bein’ a dumbass?”

Ray Palmer’s hugs were serious business. Mick found himself wrapped up and squeezed tight. “You’ll always be my friend,” Ray promised.

“Good, good,” Mick eked out. “One more thing I've been meaning to mention."

“Yeah.”

“You need a haircut.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick is confronted by something from the past and has an existential crisis.

Ava approached Mick while he was in the library. “Sara said I’d find you here. Have to admit I’m a little surprised.” He peered at her over the tops of his reading glasses.

“Still workin’ my way through the classics,” he explained, waving a copy of Moby Dick. “Help you with something?”

“The apparatus the Legends used to track down magical fugitives isn’t working for the souls released from Hell. We’re forced to wait until they cause problems significant enough to register. We need some tech that the Time…”

“You need me to steal something from the Bureau?” Mick interest was piqued, and he'd spoken before it registered that Ava’s demeanor was more grim than usual.

“No, Mick. What we need belonged to the Time Masters. I found notes in Director Hunter’s files where he speculated as to where his former colleagues would go. We’re need to track them down.”

“Don’t see how I can help.”

“You’re the only person other than Director Hunter who had any regular contact with them. There’s a chance you might see someone you know, or that they would recognize you.”

“Chronos.” Mick corrected her. “They would recognize _him_.”

Ava acknowledged him with a curt nod. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s the only advantage we have.”

Mick got bored scanning the crowd for familiar faces in the second of the three domes on Mars. Oddly, since the destruction of the Oculus he hadn’t given the fate of the Time Masters any thought. From Hunter’s files it appeared that he knew suspected several of his former colleagues were using advanced technology for personal gain; some even becoming the time pirates they had once scorned. Sara walked past, bumping his elbow to indicate that he should follow her. He moseyed along at a reasonable distance until they reached a less crowded area of the market where Sara filled him in. “We have the name of someone supposedly running a jump ship chop shop, but we don’t know if they were a Time Master or a scavenger. This could be who we need.”

“Get some answers and get out,” Mick summarized. “Got it, Boss.” He and Sara positioned themselves at a corner, inconspicuously browsing through tapestries while Ava approached a storefront less than twenty yards away. The woman who came out to greet her looked unremarkable dressed neutral colors that highlighted the brightness of her blond hair. Mick looked her over, searching for something that might spark a memory. Ava was displaying a schematic of a jump ship’s heat shield generator. He felt a tingle at the base of his skull as the woman’s fingers moved over Ava’s datapad. “I can get my hands on one of these,” she informed Ava. “Of course it’s too large to keep on site. I need half now and the rest when on delivery.”

Sara’s breath tickled his ear. “Anything?”

Mick cocked his head. The woman turned and called over her shoudler. A man emerged from the shop and stepped forward to facilitate Ava’s payment. “What about him?” Sara asked. There was something familiar, but Mick couldn’t figure out what.

Then the woman clasped her assistant on the shoulder. “There we are. Such a good boy for me.”

Mick’s heart pounded. His jaw dropped and his lips moved soundlessly. 

“Get him,” Sara ordered. Swiftly Ava grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it behind his back as she pushed her way into the store. Sara was by her side in a second while Mick remained frozen in place, that one phrase ricocheting around his skull; _such a good boy for me. _He stumbled forward, desperately trying to make his very dry mouth work form words. “No,” he croaked, at last. “Her.” 

The woman was in the rear of the store, reaching for a weapon hidden behind a book case when one of Sara’s batons hit her in the shoulder. Mick leaped forward to grab her wrist as he shouted. “You know me, don’t you? You were there!”

Genuine fear flitted across her face before disappearing to be replaced by exaggerated simpering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

Mick’s grip tightened. “You were with the Time Masters.”

“No! I just sell their leftover tech - I swear.”

Sara was at his side, her presence steady and reassuring. “Mick?”

He looked in the woman’s piercing blue eyes and suddenly his head was splitting. In his mind’s eye he could see those eyes, though the rest of the face was concealed, hovering boring through him. “_There we go…I knew you could take it…you’re such a good boy for me, Chronos. We always have so much fun.”_

“You!” He snarled. “It was you in that medbay.” 

The woman’s face paled. “No, that’s impossible.” 

Ava soon arrived to back them up. “The other one confirms she’s a former Time Master.”

Mick’s legs were turning to jelly, but the woman’s apparent fear evaporated into a sneer. “If you’re hoping to learn any great secrets you’re going to be disappointed. I was little more than a med tech, but I made the most of my time, didn’t I, Chronos? Declan didn’t care about my little games as long as he got to have his fun. I can hardly believe you remember anything. I wiped you every time when I was finished with you.” Mick’s stomach heaved and he let go, stumbling to the side. The woman laughed derisively, turning to address Sara and Ava. “Are you two holding this pitiful creature’s leash now? Tell me, does the big strong hunter still beg so beautifully when the pain gets to be more than he can stand? If you’ve never held a man’s guts in your hands while he…” 

Ava shut her up with a right hook and Sara followed with a knee in the midsection. They opened a portal door to the Waverider for Mick to stumble through. Reeling and barely able to see straight, he made it to his room. Brigit’s diary peeked out from its place on his top shelf. In a moment of startling clarity, Mick knew what he had to do. He summoned Garima, kissed her chastely on the lips and then scrawled, _Buck said goodbye to Garima. He would miss her, but he would never see her again_.

He hurried to complete the next task before being interrupted, and was almost done when Gideon sounded the alarm. “Mister Rory, there are no fires allowed on the Waverider." Mick tossed the loose pages of his various unfinished manuscripts in an open metal crate, weighted them down with his typewriter, and doused everything in lighter fluid. Nate made it to the cargo bay just as Mick was aiming the heat gun’s trigger. 

“Mick, no!”

One short burst was all that was needed, and the gun slipped from his limp fingers, clattering loudly onto the metallic flooring. He pushed the manual release for the loading ramp and fled into the darkness.

xxx

He knew they were going to look for him. They would split into teams, but given the unfamiliar territory and his desire to not be found it wouldn't be easy. Eventually Nora was able to track him with a spell of some sort. Mick could hear Charlie questioning the witch. “Oi, you sure this is the place? This is beyond a dive.”

Nora sounded indignant. “Yes, I’m sure. But I have nothing to protect us from tetanus so don't touch anything.”

Mick sat up on the cot he’d been crashing on for the better part of two days and prepared to be chastised. Charlie came through the door first. She looked suitably distraught. “Oh no,” she moaned sadly. Nora’s nose wrinkled. 

“What is that sm…oh! Oh my.” 

Mick tried to laugh, but it came out as a gurgle followed by a hacking cough. “Soundin’ more like Haircut every day,” he noted. Only then did he consider how truly awful he must look, having lost various articles of clothing and what he was wearing was stiff with various bodily fluids. 

Charlie stepped forward and grasped his chin, tilting his face upward to look him in the eyes. “What’d you take?”

“What’d they do to you?” Nora added, scanning the room as if expecting to find the perpetrators of this heinous crime. Apparently it didn't occur to her that he was more than capable of getting himself into this state.

Mick answered them both in turn. “Whatever they gave me. Whatever they wanted.”

“That’s it then," Charlie barked. "You’re done. Come on home.”

He got to his feet and was pleased to find that he could shuffle adequately despite missing his shoes. Sara met them when they got back to the Waverider. She looked equal parts pissed and horrified. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“What I was made for,” he shot back at her. His mind was still blown enough to keep his tongue was loose. “It’s like she told you, Boss. She cut me into pieces and put me back together again. Made me disposable - use me up and throw me away.”

Charlie punched him hard in the shoulder. “Shut it and get in the shower.”

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you say ma’am.”

She turned the shower on full blast, and tried to help him undress while Mick slapped her hands away. “Don’t wanna hear a damn thing from you right now,” he warned. 

Lips pursed, she seemed reluctant to agree. “Just want to help you get cleaned up, all right?”

He stepped under the scalding spray, letting it cut through the layers of filth. He scrubbed until his skin was bright pink aside from the cuts and purpling finger-shaped bruises. The curtain was peeled back a bit and Charlie thrust a toothbrush into his hands. He tended to his oral hygiene and gargled before turning off the water and patting himself down with a fluffy towel. He knew when the drugs wore off everything was gonna come crashing down on him again, but was determined to avoid reality for as long as possible. “Mister Rory,” Gideon addressed him politely as ever. “Would you please…?”

“No Gideon,” he interrupted. “I’m not injured. You can check me for infections after I sleep it off.”

“Very well, Mister Rory.”

Mick slept like the dead for however long they let him and woke to find his room the ransacked mess he’d made it. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried, in vain, to keep from making a sound. The floodgates opened and he wept helplessly for the little boy he’d once been, unaware that turning to fire for solace was a sickness. He pitied the violent, angry man he grew into; holding everyone and everything at a distance because empathy would have impeded his ability to survive. He mourned the birth and death of Chronos, who bore burdens that Mick himself could not. He finally felt the weight of regret for all the opportunities for love and companionship that he’d missed or rejected on the way to becoming…what? 

Mick's gaze was drawn to empty space on the desk where his typewriter used to sit. He'd spent countless hours putting words into other people’s mouths, learning to feel through other people’s stories. He created a fake name to live behind, trying to make himself happy with his creations – like Garima, who was at least tangible, but no less a fiction than Rebecca Silver. His hands flew to his face. “Am _I_ real?” he whispered, tracing his lips. “Who am I?”

He pounded his fists on the desk top, relishing the dull throb of pain radiating up his arms. “I’m real,” he concluded. “Goddammit, I’m real!”

He sat in silence for at least an hour trying to pull together he fractured thoughts. His door chimed. “Mick, it’s Sara.”

“Yeah come in.” She entered and handed him two canteens of water, one of which he downed without stopping while she waited. Mick wanted to get something out of the way. “I couldn’t kill her,” he said quietly. “I wanted to, but…”

To his surprise, Sara took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I know. I sent you back to the ship because I didn’t want you to be faced with that the choice." She looked sadly apologetic. "I couldn't do it either. That's not who we are.”

“_Now_. Not who we are now. The past still matters.”

She let him drink more water, slowly this time. “Yes, but so does the future. It's what we make of it, and we don’t have to do it alone.” He nodded. “The guy we thought was working with her went missing a year ago. His family’s been looking for him. The authorities aren’t sure how much of his memory he’ll recover, but now he has hope. She’s going away for life.”

“Didja get what you needed?”

“No, and we’re not going to go any further.” 

“I can…”

“No. We’re going to let that part of our pasts fade away. Everyone agreed.” 

“Sorry I ran out on ya.”

“You’re back. That’s what matters. Mick, other than Ava, no one knows any details of what happened. Charlie and Nora are keeping everything to themselves too.”

“Thanks, but I’m done hidin’ it; the hurt. It’s part of me - sorta made me. I think I need some time to process that. There's this hole in me I gotta patch up. You won't even know I'm gone. I'll jump right back to today."

"Are you going to be all right on your own?"

"Yeah. Actually I thought I might go see some old friends; catch up you know?"

"All right. Don't be a stranger."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick comes back to the ship with a fresh new perspective. Back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter before Crisis and not only does it ignore COIE it treats the fugitive souls released from Hell at the end of Season 4 in a completely different manner than appears to be the case after episode 1 of Season 5. My assumption was that those souls would possess people in the current timeline, and since I already had that in mind I've decided to run with it.

Mick wasn’t trying to sneak around. He just happened to come back on board the Waverider when everyone was still asleep; almost everyone. “Welcome back, Mister Rory. Six weeks have elapsed since your departure though it appears that you have been away for considerably longer.”

“Hey Gideon. Yeah, took some time to sort myself out.” Mick tossed a duffle bag in his quarters and proceeded to the kitchen to get coffee started in preparation for the barrage of questions that would be put to him. He took a quick stroll around the common areas, taking note of a few minor changes. Ava’s name had been added to the chore wheel, but John Constantine’s preferred whiskey was still in the library under the desk, and from the various hand weights scattered around Ray and Nate were still trying to convince Behrad to ditch video games for strength training. Mick felt a small smile come and go. It was like he'd told Wally, this was his home. The only difference time had made was that he now knew it was where he wanted to be, not just the only place he had to go. 

Ray and Nate were up first, greeting him with brief hugs that Mick suffered gladly. Sara and Ava were next, wearing not quite matching, but definitely complementary, workout gear. They murmured their appreciation for the gift of morning caffeine. Behrad and Charlie shuffled in last, no doubt prompted to rise earlier than normal by Gideon. 

Behrad whistled as Charlie raised her eyebrows and fingered Mick’s now shoulder-length hair. The older man smirked. “Figured I couldn’t have a mid-life crisis and dye my hair without growin’ some first.”

“How long were you gone?” Ava inquired, sounding only concerned.

“Not too long outside my own timeline,” Mick assured her. “Didn’t see anything I shouldn’t have. Mostly I hung out with Shawna and her husband. They helped me set something up. Come see.”

The group migrated to the bridge where Mick had Gideon interface with his recently acquired laptop computer. The 3D holo display was filled with an architectural plan. “I put Rebecca Silver’s money to work,” he explained. “Invested some and started a foundation to build this. It’s for kids who need help gettin’ off the streets, or maybe not endin’ up there in the first place. Gonna have mental health assistance, legal support, education and job training. I’ve been calling it the Safe House, but the full name is the Leonard Snart Safe House.” Mick paused to cough his way through a sniffle.

Ever supportive, Ray piped up. “That’s fantastic, Mick. Len would like it.”

Sara laughed out loud as Mick replied with a grin, “Nah Haircut. He’d hate it. But that’s what happens when you go and get killed to save your friends. You don’t get a say in how people honor your memory. I figured it’d be nice if other folks got a second chance like we did.” 

The team quickly brought him up to speed on the hunt for escaped souls. With the dissolution of the Time Bureau the Legends were the only ones left equipped for the job of protecting the timeline. Mick was still wary of magic, but he had to admit that Constantine looked pretty cool doing his thing, which at the moment was a lot of muttering and hand waving that somehow expelled the soul of Vlad Tepes from a guy named Ben. Ben’s shoulders slumped and he lurched toward Mick with a terrified expression. “Make it quick, before he comes back,” he urged. “Please, I can’t make him stop.” 

“He’s gone, lad,” Constantine declared, breaking the stunned silence. “You’re free.” 

Mick stepped up and quickly slung an arm around Ben’s waist to keep him upright. “S’all right,” he muttered. “Bad guy’s out of your head.”

Sara decided it would be best to take him back to the ship to recover enough to answer a few questions. Gideon’s check-up found no injuries, but it was clear that the recently-possessed man was far from all right. “Where am I?” he asked.

“In a safe place,” Sara informed him.

Ben shook his head, seemingly unconvinced. “I tried to fight him. It was no use. He burrowed inside. I couldn’t always see what was going on, but when I did…” His face twisted with obvious disgust.

“How does he know what Vlad did in his body?” Ray asked Nate.

“Fugitive souls aren’t demons. It may not have had the power to force Ben’s soul out and send it to Hell,” the historian, and budding demonologist, theorized. 

“Gotta to start writing down rules for this stuff,” Mick grumbled as the blood drained from Ben’s face. 

“Hell?” His voice cracked. “Is that why he could control me…because I…he said we were compatible. I suppose I haven’t always done the right thing, but I never thought I was going to Hell no matter what they said in school.” He gave Sara a pleading look.

The Waverider’s captain patted his arm. “This isn’t your fault.” She turned to Mick and lowered her voice. “Can you stay with him? I need to check out a couple things with John. Nate and Ray come with me.”

Mick pulled up a stool and picked at his nails while Ben calmed down. “Where ya from?” he asked when the silence got to be too much.

Ben sighed. “Grew up in Gotham. Left after my mom died. Been moving around since then. Just turned thirty, and I was thinking that I should probably figure out what I’m gonna do when I grow up when this happened.” 

“Anyone missin’ you?” 

Mick didn’t expect the younger man to start giggling hysterically, but then he realized how ominous his question had sounded. “I mean we could call ‘em, not…”

“I get it. I’m sorry. No, I doubt any of my exes have noticed I haven’t been around the bar lately because I was busy possessed by Dracula.”

“Least you didn’t turn into a vampire,” Mick pointed out.

“Yeah, uh, is that possible?”

Mick passed Ben a glass of water. “Who knows these days.”

  


Ben was able to tell them that Vlad had been in contact with Genghis Khan, or rather the person currently possessed by the legendary Mongol leader. The two damned souls had gotten over their Earthly grudges during their time in Hell and apparently had grand plans for a European-Asian empire. Ben knew where the two had agreed to meet and was eager to help free another person from yoke of possession. While the team worked out a plan Ben remained a guest aboard the Waverider, and it was quickly obvious that he seemed to prefer Mick’s company over the others’. “What’s so interestin’ about me?” Mick asked finally, pausing in the midst of sandwich construction and catching the slight pink in Ben’s cheeks.

“I’m on a time ship with a magician, some seriously tough chicks, and a handful of super heroes. Seemed like a safe bet to hang out with the regular guy.” Ben let his fingers brush against Mick's as he passed the mustard, adding, “And I have a thing for tough guys in leather boots.”

“Hmmm,” was Mick’s only reply as he cut the sandwich and offered Ben half. That evening Mick found Ben in the library and saw him hurriedly conceal a box cutter behind his back. Mick held out his hand. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Ben frowned. “It’s not what you think. I’m not going to hurt myself. I’m just scared all the time. I want to protect myself, but I don’t know how. He was in my head. What if he comes back? I can’t stop worrying about it. I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep. I’ve been searching for something to help me feel like myself again and I just can’t find…” 

“I understand,” Mick replied. “I do. It’s a hard to-“ He was cut off by a the crash of Ben’s mouth against his. 

“Please,” Ben breathed against his neck. “Please let me feel something good.”

Silently Mick led the way to his room where he let Ben paw at him for a few minutes before checking in. “This what you want?” Nodding vigorously, Ben let Mick take the lead. They shared wet kisses, full of heat, and Mick got Ben’s jeans unzipped, taking him in hand. “This’s for you. You’re safe here. No one can hurt you.” It was artless, but efficient, and afterward Ben collapsed on Mick’s bunk. 

He yawned. “Can I…”

“Yeah you can sleep here tonight.”

“You gonna join me?”

“Maybe.”

First Mick sat at his desk and opened his laptop. Inspiration had struck, and he wanted to get a few paragraphs out before he nodded off. 

  


The next morning Ben was in better spirits. He ate the same cereal Mick did for breakfast and listened intently as Nate outlined how they would be using him as bait for their next soul target. “Obviously we need you to act like you’re still possessed,” he explained. 

“I can do that. It’s not like he went around all the time laughing maniacally and impaling people. He might have wanted to, but he was aware that it wasn’t something he could get away with in 2019.”

“Heads on pikes’ll get you tossed out of the home owner’s association,” Mick pointed out, straight-faced.

Ben laughed out loud and bumped his shoulder against Mick’s. 

Unfortunately Genghis didn’t show at the meet-up, instead sending Vlad/Ben some cryptic texts about recruiting allies. Ben was befuddled. “I know this is the right time. I showed you my phone. I don’t know what’s going on. Could he have been tipped off somehow?”

While Sara and Ray regrouped, Constantine fired off a few quick spells and concluded that the area was blanketed by infernal residue. “He was here. Left in a hurry.”

Ben couldn’t stop apologizing. “Maybe something about me tipped him off. I’m so sorry. I screwed it up. I just didn’t look mean enough.” He put a hand to his pocket. “Oh, got a message. It's from GK. He's rescheduling for next week."

“Do we jump ahead?” Behrad wondered.

“Or stick around and see if we can figure out what he’s up to,” Nate suggested. Sara decided they could spend a couple days gathering intel, especially if it involved another fugitive soul. 

It was safest for Ben aboard the Waverider, and he was doing anything he could to stay calm. He let out a loud sigh and plopped on the couch next to Behrad. “You guys sure do like Rebecca Silver,” he observed, gesturing toward the pile of paperbacks. 

“Yeah, we’re, uh, fond of her,” Behrad commented noncommittally. 

“Why?”

Mick choked on his beer slightly. “Why what?”

Ben turned toward him. “Why do you like her? I know she’s really popular right now because half the women in my spin class talk about her books, but from what I’ve seen her work speaks more to male fantasy. Come on, Garima may be a warrior queen, but she had three boobs. Who wants that?”

Turning away slightly as his cheeks felt hot, Mick mumbled, “Three boobs is cool.” 

Picking up on the other man’s embarrassment Ben let the subject drop. 

He approached Mick that night. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t out to your friends.”

Mick swallowed. “S’okay. I mean it’s not like that. I uh. I like boobs sometimes. And I like romances.” 

Ben moved in closer. “Do you like me?”

“Yeah,” Mick replied, leaning in for a kiss. “And I don’t care who knows it.”

It was funny how easy it was to establish a routine from that point; recon missions followed by group dinner and movies or video games, and then mutually beneficial sexual encounters and sleep. Ben got along with everyone and Mick liked having him around. They could talk – really talk – about all sorts of stuff. Ben hadn’t exactly led a charmed life and Mick was relieved to not have to go into great detail regarding his own less than pristine past. 

They lay in bed together the morning of the rescheduled meeting between Vlad and Genghis. Ben’s head was resting on Mick’s chest and the ex-con basked in the affection he felt for the younger man. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a boyfriend. He wondered if he had to ask Ben to be his boyfriend or that was just something that happened. He was still pondering the matter as they got dressed when he noticed that Ben seemed sad. “We need to talk,” he whispered. 

“Huh?”

“I really like you Mick. This has been great – you’re great. But I can tell that you want to fuck me, and I don’t…”

Overwhelmed by anxiety Mick left the room without a word. He went to the kitchen and began forcefully opening and closing drawers. He poured a large bowl of cereal and stabbed at it with his spoon. Ben walked right up to him. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Got the point just fine. I ain’t good enough for ya.”

“That isn’t even remotely what I was going to say, and I certainly didn’t mean to upset you so much.”

“Look, if you don’t wanna sleep in my bed anymore that’s fine. An’ if you don’t like what we’ve been doin…”

“No! Mick, I like sleeping with you. I like being with you in general. I just don’t want you to be disappointed because, well, the thing is that I don’t bottom - ever. I hate it.”

Mick processed his confusion. “Sooo I’d have to…?”

“Yes. You see the problem.”

“That you don’t wanna fuck me? What, am I not hot enough?”

“No that’s not what I…”

“Do you wanna fuck me or not?”

Eyes wide, Ben pulled at his own hair. “Yes! I think you’re hot as hell and I can’t go five minutes without fantasizing about plowing your beefy ass.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Got me all worried with that “we have to talk” stuff and makin' assumptions about what I like. If we’re gonna be in a relationship you’re gonna have to learn to communicate better.” Trying not to let Ben see that his heart was pounding Mick turned his attention back to his cereal with a small smile. Ben kissed him on the cheek.

“I guess I will,” he agreed. “Did you eat all the Captain Crunch, or are we going to have another argument?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in wrapping this up. The holidays hit me like a freight train and I'm just getting back on my feet. I know now where and how I want to finish this story. Just gotta get it done.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick finally gets to feel the love.

Mick was sure that no other man in history had every tried as hard as he was not to gush like a teenage girl. It was one thing to know he had a certain appeal, especially to women who were attracted to danger. This was different, and not just because Ben was a guy. At long last Mick understood why Ray made a fool of himself over Nora and why Nate got wistful sometimes when he looked at Charlie. Being wanted felt damn good, though a tad scary. By mid-afternoon he started to worry that he hadn’t done enough to prepare for what, in his mind, was shaping up to be a singular event. He needed to talk to someone, and who else would he turn to other than Ray “love finds a way” Palmer? Seeing no need for delicacy, Mick laid everything out. “Ben and I are gonna bone. How do I make it really good?”

Ray’s eyebrows climbed upward seeking refuge in his bangs. “Uhhhhh,” he hummed, clearly taken aback.

Mick continued. “M’not stupid. Gonna clean up real good. I just wanna know if there’s something extra I should do so it’s, ya know, special.”

Putting his tools down, Ray gave Mick his undivided attention. “First, thank you for your trust. Second, I’m relieved that I haven’t been imagining things. Ben _has_ been undressing you with his eyes for days. He likes you and you clearly like him or you wouldn’t be worrying about this so I don’t know what I can tell you other than you need to relax.”

“I just want him to…” Mick paused to take a deep breath. “I want him to want to be with me _after_ it’s done; for it to be like it is other people, or in the books.”

Ray’s smile was bright and reassuring. “You'll get there, Mick. I'm happy for you.” 

Mick did some deep breathing exercises before he turned down the lights and got into bed with Ben. As soon they kissed, Mick felt the knot in his gut begin to uncoil. Ben made him feel like he was the most important person in the world, murmuring compliments and touching him gently until the older man was floating on a cloud of endorphins. The sex was like he’d always dreamed it could be. “Wow,” he breathed as they lay beside each other. “That was so much better than the machine.”

“Whaat?” 

“Nevermind,” he muttered, then immediately followed with, “I’m so stupid.”

“How come?

Without warning there were tears in his eyes, and Mick quickly turned his head. Ben rolled onto his side and kissed the back of Mick’s neck, waiting for him to be able to express himself. “I’ve been alone so long I forgot..” 

“You’re not alone anymore,” Ben whispered.

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Now that just isn’t true. Maybe it’s crazy, but I felt something pulling on my insides the first time I saw you. I know that you deserve to be happy, and if I can make you happy, I will, for as long as I’m able. Can’t say that I’ve ever swept someone off their feet before – like in those ridiculous books you like. It feels pretty good.”

The laughter bubbled up and Mick couldn’t keep from chuckle-snorting. Ben looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Mick wrapped his arms around Ben and hugged him tightly. They were both nodding off when he finally explained. “I’m Rebecca Silver.”

Ben yawned. “Sure you are.”

The following morning, Behrad gave him a knowing look, otherwise the team minded their business. Mick tried his best not to fuss over his new lover as they prepared to face Genghis Khan. “You can do this,” he insisted, willing it to be true.

When they got to the meeting place it practically smelled like a trap. Even Nick looked tense. “Something’s not right.” The historian barely finished his sentence before a small woman ran past, knocking Ben over, just as a trio of thugs came down the street. Mick fired the heat gun and singed a few eyebrows, following up with a hail of blows that knocked one to the ground and convinced the second to retreat. Nate laid out the third guy before dragging Ben and his assailant to safety. 

“Who the hell are you!” Mick demanded as Nate called in the rest of the team.

The woman grabbed Ben by the wrists. “I saved you. He knows so I had to save you. Please send me back! I have to go back.”

“To where?” Ben was confused. 

She stamped her foot. “Hell! I need to go back.”

“And who might you be then?” inquired John Constantine, approaching with characteristic swagger.

“Gilles de Rais,” she replied impatiently. “I didn’t mean to leave. I wasn’t trying to escape punishment.”

Nate’s jaw dropped. “_You’re _Baron Rais, who fought alongside Joan of Arc and murdered over a hundred children.”

Her face wrinkled at the accusation. “It wasn’t that many! They tortured me into admitting- which is why I belong in hell. I didn’t try to escape. I just popped in this body and Genghis Khan of all people tried to recruit me. He knows Vlad got sent back and he’s so angry.”

“Where is he now?” asked Nate.

“Long gone,” said lady de Rais. “He was trying to keep me quiet so I didn’t cause any trouble. Which I won’t because you’re going to send me back. I haven’t paid for my sins. I deserve my punishment.”

Constantine obliged the reluctant-fugitive soul, and Nate got the woman who had been possessed home safely. On the Waverider, Mick went to the library to look up information on infamous child murderer, Gilles de Rais. The knot in his stomach had returned. “Gideon, I need your help pulling together some stuff.” 

Ben was making a late-night sandwich when Mick plopped a folder filled with paper on the table next to him. “That’s everything,” he announced. Ben didn’t reach for it, searching Mick’s face instead. “It’s a summary of my life. The first three pages are my rap sheet. Then there’s every psychological evaluation all the way back from the group home where I got sent after my folks died, to juvie, and then county lock up. I was a torch for hire. I’ve done hard time. Um, I wrote down about how I ended up a hunter-assassin for the Time Masters and then got recruited to join the Legends."

Ben put his hands on Mick's shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to be a better man.” Mick knew he was talking too fast. He needed to get it all out before Ben stopped him. “I’m not a good man. Not yet. I know that. I drink too much. I get into fights and I’ll never totally give up being a thief. You should know that, because I don’t wanna lie, especially not to you.”

“Huh.” Cutting his sandwich, Ben offered Mick half. “Sounds like you have a story to tell. I’d like to hear it.” 

It took longer than Mick had anticipated, mostly because he hadn’t planned on saying any of it out loud. Usually people accepted the reports they were given about him and made their decisions based on the evidence. Ben said he wanted to hear Mick’s version of events; to see how his experiences had molded him. 

“What brought this on?” Ben asked finally. “Not that I’m against being open and honest. But I can see how frightened you are. What brought this on?”

Mick swallowed hard. “I read about Gilles; the things he did. He was right. He deserves to be in Hell. I probably do too.”

Ben got up from the table to pour them glasses of water for them both. “It’s a lot to handle-Hell, and presumably Heaven, being real. I’d be lying if I said I’d even begun to process how that makes me feel. I’ve never been very religious; what with several condemning who I love and the way I love them. Mick, I’m scared too. Life can be scary. But not all the time; not with people who care about you.”

“You need to know about me – not just the me I am now – but everything. Because…”

Ben grinned. “Because you love me?”

“I told you - stupid."

“You are not. Love is never stupid.” Ben yawned and grabbed Mick’s hand. “I’m beat. Shall we pick this discussion again in the morning?”

The two men slept in and spent most of the morning talking about anything and everything. They both knew Ben couldn’t stay with the Legends. He had a life to get back to. He was almost done with his master’s degree in psychology and planning to get certified to do social work. Mick let him know about a new facility being constructed in Central City. He would put in a word with the director. 

Gideon helped Mick send and receive messages when the Waverider was in the temporal zone, and every couple weeks he visited in person. Ben was pleasantly surprised when Mick shaved his head after an embarrassing pony tail pulling incident during a fight. “I didn't think it was possible for you to be even hotter,” Ben purred in his ear. Mick suppressed a giggle. It wasn’t happily ever after - because who ever got that? Happy right now was just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you read the whole thing - thank you. I learned a lot from this experience. I don't think I'll ever post a WIP again. It was far too stressful. I never meant to take as long as I did, but I'm afraid the story took me in a direction I hadn't anticipated after LOT S4 ended and then COIE and the announcement that BR would be leaving the show as a full time cast member and I felt like the wind left my sails. But I couldn't abandon this because I wanted to give Mick a taste of happiness - with himself, his journey, and his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first true WIP. Usually I have the rough draft of a story done before I post the first chapter. But I've been sitting on this one for a couple months, and before I succumb to doubts I want to get it all out there. Thank you for reading.


End file.
